Curiouser and Curiouser (AIZ)
by sws5sospatd
Summary: Riley had always known zombies were out there, she just couldn't see them. Her father had died fighting them, and her mother lived in fear of them, but it's not until her brother is attacked and bitten that Riley herself is able to see the creatures she'd been warned about. Now able to join the fight against them, Riley finally meets Trey and the rest of the slayers.
1. Chapter 1

I was used to seeing the sun peak up over the mountains in the morning, just as I was used to biting my nails in anxious habit. I'd been sitting at my window for hours, perched in a worn armchair with an unopened book on my lab. Somewhere on the other side of the windowpane, my brother was in danger. He was fighting the creatures that he and few others could see.

Not ten minutes after the first rays of sun had lit up the sky, Thomas' figure sauntered out from the treeline. His shirt was torn at his shoulder, and there was a smear of blood on his forehead, but other than that, he seemed okay. I tossed the book at my bed and made my way downstairs, tiptoeing near the edge of each step so as to keep the creeping at bay. Mom was upstairs, having fallen into a sleeping-pill induced slumber hours before. The nights Thomas went out to patrol were hard for her, even harder than they were for me.

"What are you doing up?" Thomas asked as he stepped through the back door, wiping his mud-coated boots on the carpet below. I grimaced, knowing Mom would yell at him about dirtying the kitchen in the morning. "It's five A.M."

I shrugged, "Wanted to make sure you made it back."

He laughed, walking towards me and ruffling my hair with the palm of his hand. "I always make it back, what are you so worried about?"

"Nothing," I said, frowning. "And don't touch my hair."

"Okay, okay." He said. "You should try and get some sleep. I'll drive you to school in the morning, so you don't have to get up for the bus."

"Thanks." I said, already heading back up the stairs. I stifled a yawn.

Every two days, Thomas went out on patrol. Per mom's request, he made a point of telling me as little as possible when it came to the slayers. He'd been working with them for the better part of a decade, starting even before our dad had died. In all that time, all I knew about the people he spent his nights with were that they were mostly younger than him, save for one or two, and that Thomas and my mom did everything they could to keep me far, far away from them.

When I'd started high school, my mom had enrolled me in the private school in the next town over rather than the high school that was only a few streets down the road. I wasn't stupid; Thomas had gone to that high school, and that was where a lot of the other slayers went, I was sure. Mom said it was because it was dangerous for us to be around them; unlike Thomas and our dad, we couldn't see the monsters they could.

Dad used to say that could change, if I was unlucky enough. Mom was human, always had been, but I wasn't. Like Thomas and my dad, I had slayer's blood, but I didn't have the sight. Thomas had been born with it, able to see the zombies from the time he could walk. I was different.

I waited until I heard the sound of the shower running before I climbed into bed, eyes heavy with need for sleep. There really wasn't any reason for me to stay up on the nights he went out; all it meant was that I would feel relieved when he came back in the mornings, and then exhausted the next day at school. Even with a thermos full of caffeine and money to buy more, I often found myself drifting off at my desk or unable to focus on powerpoints. It did nothing good for my grades, that was for sure, but after Thomas' not-so-stellar record from when he was in school, I could have gotten straight D's and still be the star of the family.

I woke up a little more than three hours later, changing out of my pajamas and meeting Thomas downstairs. Though I'd certainly put minimal effort into my look for the morning, he'd done even less, sporting checkered pajama pants and messy brown hair. I would have bet a hundred dollars he'd just crawled out of bed and was planning on crawling right back in after dropping me off.

I climbed into the front seat of his truck, glancing down at the toolbox that sat just in front of my feet. Aside from a single hammer, there was nothing but blades in there. It was what he called his "on-the-go" kit, for emergencies when he couldn't quite make it to the base before fighting off a hoard. If anyone who didn't know about what lurked in the shadows of night opened it, they would think he was either a killer or an overly enthusiastic hunter.

Thomas dropped me off just in front of the school doors, the bright green banner with the crest that matched the one on my school uniform unmissable in the center. He looked up at it through the windshield, chuckling to himself, "Sometimes I'm really glad mom sent me to the normal kid school. See you later, freak."

I rolled my eyes, waving as I stumbled up the stairs. I spent the day struggling to keep my eyes open throughout every single class, and the majority of lunch hour napping at the edge of a picnic table while my friends ate beside me. They'd long since gotten used to my near-daily antics, and the worried questions and come and gone weeks before. Amanda, a girl I'd known since my first day at Worsner's Academy three years earlier, had once asked me if I was a closeted druggie who slept during class because I spent my nights high. It'd almost taken a drug test to convince her that wasn't the case.

Half-way through my last class of the day, Thomas texted me to say he was heading to the base to _hit the gym_, and he probably wouldn't be home when I got there. Though I hated to admit it, and was even a little disgusted with myself, I was jealous. The base was just another thing Thomas and my dad had shared that I'd never gotten the chance to be a part of. Though I'd spent the years up until dad died training with him in the backyard, kicking at pads and punching at air, Thomas had gotten to spend the nights hunting with him. They'd done it all together, from weapon's practice to ashing monsters. Thomas had even been there the night he was killed.

Mom had always been a little crazy, and Dad used to say it was all his fault. Though he always said it with a smile, there was a sad tinge to his voice every time, as though it wasn't completely a joke. She was human, and he'd brought her into this world, told her himself of what dangers the nights held. The fear was too much for her; she was scared of them, scared of being attacked, and scared for her husband and son every time they walked out the door.

I was fifteen when Dad died, just a little over two years ago. Thomas had come home late the next morning, after hours of mom and I sitting in the living room scared out of our witts. He was covered in blood, and the moment he walked through the door, I'd known. It was obvious in the way his shoulder's hung, in how he couldn't bring his eyes to meet ours. Thomas blamed himself for that night, even though no one else did. It wasn't long after that that I'd started staying up to make sure he got home. I'd missed out on one goodbye because I'd been asleep; I wouldn't miss out on another.

But despite the fear and the fretting, I wanted to be a part of that world. I wanted it just as badly as I wanted to go to parties with my friends and play sports after school. I wanted it just as badly as Thomas hoped I would never have it.


	2. Chapter 2

Thomas got home just minutes before night fell. Mom and I had been sitting in the living room, watching the credits roll at the end of a rom-com she'd picked for the night, when his headlights shined through the slivers of space between the blinds. He walked in the door moments later, muttering a hello before disappearing upstairs.

Mom turned towards me just as soon as he'd left the room, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Did he get hurt yesterday? He was still asleep when I went to work this morning."

"No, he seemed fine." I said.

She nodded, looking back to the T.V. The movie had ended, and an older sitcom I didn't recognize was playing now. Mom stared blankly at the screen, lost in her thoughts and her own little bubble. Eventually, I stood and made my way into the kitchen to make some food, throwing leftovers from dinner into the microwave and watching it turn through the dotted window. I could hear Thomas upstairs, feet shuffling against the floorboards over my head, and the constant hum of soundbox laughter coming from the T.V. just a hallway away.

Knowing I had homework, I left mom in the living room and brought my food up to my room. I kicked the door closed behind me and settled into the chair just in front of my desk. I hadn't paid much attention in my classes, but Amanda had texted me whatever homework I might have missed after the school day had ended, along with an invite to her birthday party the following weekend. We both knew I wouldn't be able to go, I never was, but she never failed to invite me regardless. Though mom was a lot more lenient when it came to be leaving the house than Dad had been, one rule had never changed in the 17 years I'd been alive, and that was that no one goes out needlessly after dark.

As far as Amanda and the others knew, my mom was just unreasonably strict. That had been my cover story forever, and it was easily believed. I couldn't blame my mom not really, even if Thomas was allowed to leave the house whenever he pleased. Her rules kept me safe; it wasn't her fault I couldn't see the zombies.

For the next couple of hours, I alternated between picking at my plate of peas and mashed potatoes and filling out answers in my math workbook. I googled most of them, scribbling down the answers and hoping they were close enough to correct. I left the ones that I couldn't fine blank, knowing I could reconvene with Amanda in the morning to fill them in. Thomas wasn't meant to go patrolling tonight, which meant I wouldn't be up as late as I was the night before. I wouldn't be too tired to get to school early and double-check my answers before handing it in.

The moment the thought came to mind, I heard Thomas' boots shuffle against the flooring outside my room, and his door shut soon after. I stood, stepping out into the hall and watching him take his first few steps downstairs, where the T.V. had long since been turned off and mom was no where to be seen.

I blinked, "Where are you going?"

He turned back to me, eyes wide as if he hadn't expected me to hear him step out. "They found a nest in the forest pass, need help."

"You went out last night," I said, as though he wasn't aware. "Can't they get someone else?"

"It's not like there're hundreds of us, Riles." He said, running a hand through his hair. Thomas turned and kept walking, the stairs creaking underneath him. I followed his figure all the way to the front door.

"How many in the nest?" I asked, leaning against the doorway.

He paused on the deck, pulling his truck keys from his pocket. I knew from the way his face contorted that I wouldn't like the words he said next, "He said thirty. He was also running, so, I might've misheard."

"How many of you are going?" I asked, doing my best to mask the shakiness of my lungs. Thirty was a lot. It sounded like a lot.

"All of us," he shrugged.

I narrowed my eyes, "And how many is that?"

Thomas sighed, ready to give me yet another lecture on how our mom didn't like it when we talked about slayer stuff, but his voice got cut short. Thomas smelled the air, his eyebrows twitching over his eyes in thought, just before his eyes widened with a realization. "Riley, go inside."

"Why?" I asked, watching him run towards his truck, tearing the toolbox from the passenger's side. It tumbled to the ground, the blades that were inside sliding across the dirt driveway, kicking up a storm of dust that was just barely visible in the moonlight. Thomas picked up two daggers, twirling them in his hands and holding them out in front of him. My breathing grew heavier, but no air seemed to fill my lungs. I knew what was happening, I knew why Thomas wanted me to go inside, and yet I couldn't move. I was filled with the fear that they could be anywhere; two feet away from him, ten feet away from me, and I wouldn't even know it.

"Go inside, Riley." He yelled, and I flinched at the tone of his voice.

Not one second later, his body fell tumbling to the ground, eyes closed. Every few seconds, he would twitch, blood pooling over his clothes and gashes opening on his arms. I felt tears streak from my eye, and I fought the urge to run to his side and drag him into the confines of our house. I knew I couldn't though, because I knew just enough about Thomas' world to know that'd be useless. He wasn't dead, I told myself. He was in spirit form. He was fighting. He was Thomas, and he'd be fine.

He needed help, I thought, and that singular phrase had my feet moving again. My limbs were shaking, and I could barely keep up on my feet as I tore through the house to get to the landline in the living room, eyes glossing over the list of phone numbers that sat just to it's left. There weren't many numbers listed, we didn't know very many people, but I knew which one to call. Two little red X's marked each side of the number. I dialed and looked out the window, as though I might be able to see Thomas, but I couldn't.

Someone picked up. "Hello?"

"Thomas needs help," I said, and the words came quickly. So quickly I was afraid they couldn't be understood. "There's...There's some outside. He's on his own, he needs _help_."

"Okay," they said, and then they hung up.

I ran back towards the door, pausing just on the inside of the open doorway. Thomas was on the ground, his body covered in even more blood than before, crimson soaking through his already dark-colored clothes. I was watching him carefully, so carefully that when his body suddenly began moving again, I jumped. He scrambled to his feet, limping towards the house, and I raced to help him inside.

"No!" He screamed. "Inside, now."

I blinked, nodding quickly and stepping into the house. He was two steps away, just two feet, when he fell to the ground, letting a yelp lose from his lips and looking down at his calf, where a chunk of his skin was now missing. I screamed as more bite marks showed through his skin, as he cried out from the pain of it, as my brain seemed to rattle against my skull from the fear. I reached out and pulled him inside, slamming the door shut behind us and looking down at him with tear-stained eyes.

I said nothing, racing towards the bathroom and screaming up the stairs, "Mom! Mom, help!"

I opened the bathroom cabinet and grabbed the first aid kid, running back towards Thomas and dumping everything it had to offer on the tile around him. Our mom came down the stairs a few minutes later, eyes puffy from a heavy sleep, but she seemed to wake up near immediately after seeing Thomas sprawled across the ground. She ran towards us, helping to bandage the gashes that we could see on his arms and legs. He was writhing on the floor, his teeth clenched together, and I could still feel the tears soaking my face.

"The antidote," Mom said, voice hoarse. "It's in his room, the drawer in his nightstand. Go get it."

I nodded, already running. By the time I made it downstairs, there were headlights pouring into our living room as two cars soared into the driveway. I handed the syringe to mom, watching her jab it into his arm with practiced hands. I wondered how many times she'd had to do this for Dad, in the thirty years she'd known him before he died. How many times had our family stumbled home half-drunk by pain and filled with zombie venom?

I peered out the window in the door, watching strangers cut through bodies that numbered nearly ten, hands lighting up so white I was nearly blinded by the sight of it. It was only after they'd stopped fighting, as the group of strangers sauntered back towards the vehicle and climbed back into the bodies that sat perched inside, that I realized what I'd seen. I'd watched them fight the zombies, seen them in spirit form, seen them ash the things that had hurt my brother.

I could see it all.


	3. Chapter 3

I waited until they'd taken him away, until after mom and I had been assured by two boys that Thomas would be fine, to tell her what'd happened. I told her how he'd been getting ready to leave when they'd come, and how when the slayers had arrived, I'd seen the fight. She looked at me with sad eyes when I told her I could see the zombies, as though those simple words were the ones she'd hoped she'd never have to hear.

"Your dad always said you would, someday." She said, nodding her head solemnly. She looked down at the blood that covered the front entrance of the house with a blank expression. "I'll call the school tomorrow. I think we both deserve a day off."

I nodded, watching her stalk towards the closet under the stairs to fish out the mop bucket. I reached for it, giving her a small smile, "I'll do it."

She nodded, moving towards the couch and falling back into the cushions. I walked into the kitchen and lifted the bucket to the sink, filling it just enough that I would be able to clean the floor. It took me no longer than ten minutes to wash the tiles clean, and I did my best not to heave at the sight of the dirt and blood-ridden water in the bucket as I dragged it towards the bathroom to dump down the tub drain. My mom was still sitting in the couch, staring at a black T.V. screen, exactly where I'd left her.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

She looked at me and frowned, "I should be asking you that."

"I'm fine," I said, though it felt like a lie. I'd seen Thomas battered and bruised far more than I'd seen him scrape free, but nothing compared to what he'd looked like tonight. I closed my eyes and saw the bite marks that seemed to appear in his flesh out of thin air, imagining the creatures I'd seen sinking their teeth into his arms, and I shuddered. No longer willing to think about my brother and his current state, I thought about the zombies and nothing else. "They don't look like what I thought they would."

"What do you mean?" Mom asked.

I shrugged, sitting back on the couch beside her. Even with the space between us that there was, I could still feel the subtle shake of her hands on her lap. We'd never completely figured out what was wrong with her over the years, partly because she refused to see a doctor and we never forced her. Thomas said the slayers had a doctor who worked with them, and that was where he got her sleeping pills for each night. It made sense, in a twisted kind of way. After all, a doctor would only refer her to a psychiatrist, and what would she tell them? That she was afraid of zombies killing her family in the dead of night? They'd peg her for crazy.

"I thought it'd be more like the movies," I said, immediately regretting the words. Nothing was ever like the movies. "It's scarier than that."

Mom said nothing for a minute, and then she sighed, "You can say no. You don't have to fight them. You can just pretend you never saw anything, we don't even have to tell Thomas."

I shook my head, "There's a reason Dad used to teach me fighting in the backyard. Why he made Thomas and I spar after school instead of joining sports. I don't want to let him down."

"Oh, sweetie." Mom said, looking over at me with her head tilted to the side. She reached over and brushed her fingers against the piece of hair that hung next to my face. It was the same ashy shade of brown as hers, without the slick pieces of grey mixed in. Dad used to say I was a carbon copy of her, just like Thomas was a carbon copy of him."You could never do that."

I nodded, glancing at the digital clock under the T.V. screen. It was nearing midnight, and I was beyond tired. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

She smiled, pulling her hand back to her side. I could feel her gaze on me as I stalked back up the stairs, stepping into my bedroom and listening for the click of the door shutting behind me. Just as soon as I was lying in my bed, my phone chimed from the nightstand just beside it. I reached over and pulled it to me, looking at Thomas' name on the lock screen and pressing my thumb against the home button.

_I'm okay. _It read, as if that was enough.

A wave of relief filled me. I typed and retyped twice before hitting send. For a brief moment, I considered what mom had said. I didn't have to tell Thomas. After all, I'd meant what I told her. They were far more frightening than what I'd ever imagined. For the first time since my childhood, I realized why my family had tried to hard to keep me away. _I saw them tonight_.

He took nearly a full minute to respond. _The Z's?_

_Yes._

_Trey says you to come to training with me tomorrow._ He replied, and my heart began to race. Trey. It was the first name Thomas had ever given me when it came to the slayers. The first bit of information, of _real _information, I'd ever had. Before tonight, it'd all been generic, small things to get me to stop asking questions or stuff that pertained to my safety.

I didn't bother texting him back and I plugged my phone back into its charger.


	4. Chapter 4

It was almost noon when I woke up the next day, and nearly one when I finally stumbled downstairs to the scent of burnt toast and coffee wafting from the kitchen. Mom was sitting at the table, a mug and empty plate in front of her, and dark purple bags under her eyes. She looked as though she hadn't slept at all last night, and I couldn't blame her. I myself had only gotten a few hours, with all of the tossing and turning I'd done.

"Morning," I said, walking straight to the Keurig and putting a mug underneath it. I reached for a pod and pressed the button to start it.

Mom laughed, but it sounded forced, "I think you mean afternoon."

"Interchangeable," I said, smiling. "Did you call the school?"

She nodded, "Earlier. The secretary asked me to come in for a meeting regarding your grades. Apparently she was going to call me later."

I bit my lip, going quiet.

Mom sighed, "I guess it's no matter now. It wasn't that long ago Thomas was in school. All the late nights, injuries... your grades are only going to get worse."

"Probably," I said. "We could always homeschool me instead. That sounds like fun."

She chuckled, "Unlikely. I had a different idea."

"And what's that?" I asked, dumping a spoon full of sugar into the mug as the Keurig filled it with coffee.

"How would you feel about transferring?" She said. "To the high school."

"Thomas' old school?" I squeaked, peering around the fridge to look at her. She was staring down at the cup in her hand, deep in thought. I blinked. "The one here in town?"

"Yes," she said, lifting her eyes to meet mine. "The slayers are there, they have connections with the school. They always managed to keep your brother out of trouble when he showed up with bruises, they'll do the same for you."

For a brief second, I thought of Amanda. We'd been friends since our first days at the academy, and though we were polar opposites, I knew she would be upset if I left the school. On the other hand, I couldn't deny that the idea excited me. It felt like everything was falling into place, and the fear I felt for the monsters I would have to fight was secondary to the thrill that ran through my veins. Amanda would understand, and it wasn't as though I'd never get to see her again. There was even a chance that, now that I could see the zombies, I'd be able to go out at night for reasons other than fighting. After all, there was far less danger now that I wouldn't be walking around blind.

"I'd like that," I said, taking my mug and sitting in the chair across from her. My phone chimed from my back pocket, and I fished it out.

It was Thomas again. _I'm coming to pick you up in 30. _

I didn't reply, and instead worked on chugging back the steaming cup of coffee I held in my hand. "Thomas is coming to pick me up soon."

"He's not driving, I hope." Mom said, shaking her head. "After all the blood he lost yesterday... he can't."

I shook my head, "I doubt it. His truck's in the driveway."

I brought the empty mug back to the kitchen and left it in the sink, running back upstairs to change. I wasn't sure what I'd be doing, but I knew that whenever Thomas went to the base he would always come back reeking of sweat and in desperate need of a shower. I changed into leggings and a tee-shirt, tying my running shoes onto my feet and tugging an elastic over my wrist. Excitement left me jittery, my knee bouncing up and down while I sat at the foot of my bed, but anxiety had me breathing heavily from my nose. These people I'd be meeting fought monsters for a living, and that meant they had to be some kind of hardcore. That made me nervous, if only because when I looked in the mirror, that was hardly a word I would use to describe myself.

I packed a punch, that was for sure, but I was far from the frightening type. It worried me to think that I might not fit in, though the thought seemed trivial. The possibility of it left a pit at the bottom of my stomach as big as a weight.

It wasn't long after that that I heard a car pull into the driveway, and I made my way downstairs just in time to see Mom fretting over Thomas' appearance in the doorway. He'd looked worse, that much was true, but it wasn't saying a lot. There were dark purple and yellow bruises on his jaw, and bandages that had once been white peaked through at the edges of his shirt sleeves. He moved to step further into the house, and he limped. Where he'd been bitten on his calf the night before was covered in a thick wad of gauze, taped around his skin over and over again to hold it in place.

Another figure sauntered into the house behind him, holding a bag and a small case that looked a lot like the one that'd had the syringe in it last night. He set it down at the kitchen table, and I took a minute to look him over. Jet black hair and dark blue eyes made shivers crawl over my skin, and that was before I noticed the silver lib ring that sug into the left of his bottom lip. He was exactly what I'd thought a slayer would look like; all bite and oozing fear. Even so, he couldn't have been much older than me. Not even as old as Thomas, I was sure.

"I'm fine, mom." Thomas said as she started reaching for the bandage on his collar. "Just a few scrapes is all."

"A few scrapes," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "A few scrapes that had you bleeding all over the floor last night. A few scrapes my butt."

"I'll be fine in a few days," Thomas countered, reaching for her hand and giving it a quick squeeze. "Where's Riles?"

I stepped down the last stair and onto the floor with a soft plump, drawing his eyes my way. I forced a smile, "You look like crap."

Thomas feigned a hurt look, "You wound me."

I walked towards him and reached down to hug him, careful not to touch any of the gauzes that seemed to riddle his skin. I didn't doubt that he'd be okay in a few days, most of them were probably surface wounds that looked worse than they were, but it didn't make me feel any better seeing him as he was. When I pulled back, Thomas nodded towards the boy who leaned against the closed door, watching us with squinted eyes. "This is Trey. Trey, this is my sister, Riley."

"Nice to meet you," I said, withholding the sudden urge to hold out my hand to shake. I never did that, but the way Trey was looking at me made me feel like a child meeting someone far older. More experienced, very scary.

"We should get you briefed," Trey said. "Thomas said you've done some fighting, so hopefully we can have you on rotation by the end of the week, especially since he'll be off for the next two."

I bit my tongue. No beating around the bush with him, I guess. The way he spoke made me feel small, even smaller than I did just standing next to him, and I didn't like it. He was the kind of person that made me want to mouth off just for the hell of it.

Thomas scoffed, "I'll be good to go by the weekend."

"I'm not risking it," Trey said, staring him down.

Thomas rolled his eyes, turning to mom. "I'm going to go with them and stay at the base for a few days. The Doc said it's easier if I stay there so she can check me out every now and then."

Mom nodded, and then she looked over at me, "You're sure about this?"

My gaze shifted to Trey, and then to Thomas, as they all waited for me to answer. I nodded stiffly, "Yeah, I'm sure."


	5. Chapter 5

It took Thomas no more than ten minutes to throw some of his things into his bag and lead us out the door. He and Trey climbed into the front of a black SUV that was parked at the end of our driveway, and I stepped up into the back. When Trey turned the key in the ignition, there was a low-volume hum of upbeat music that played through the speakers.

I didn't know exactly where the base was, only that it was close enough that Thomas could jog there in a little under an hour. Driving, it was barely ten minutes before Trey pulled off of the busy streets and back into the forest. The road turned twisty and there was a fog of dirt kicked up by the heavy-duty wheels of his car. I latched onto the door for fear of whipping one way or the other each time he turned the wheel, wondering how someone could drive this fast on a road with this many turns.

He stopped in a clearing surrounded by tall trees and filled with dead and dying grass. There were two buildings there, one was a house that was in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint, and the other looked like a cross between a barn and an oversized shed, painted the same shade of green as the trees that surrounded it.

"I'll give her the tour, Trey." Thomas announced, jumping out of the car and wincing as his feet hit the ground. I followed him out, and Trey was already several feet ahead of us on his way to the second building.

"Meeting in 10," Trey said, and that was all.

I waited until he'd disappeared inside through the small door on the side of the shed before I turned to Thomas and scowled. "He seems like a real nice guy."

"He'll grow on you." Thomas said, hobbling forward. I took his bag off of his shoulder and slung it around my own, and he offered me a smile in return. "Come on."

I followed him up to the shed, and he only stopped when we were standing just outside of the door. He pointed back towards the house at the other end of the property, "That's Trey's place. Well, his aunt's place. It used to be his Moms, but she died, so then it was his, but he was too young so technically it's his aunts."

I blinked, "What about his Dad?"

"Dead." Thomas said, shrugging as though it meant nothing. "They were both slayers, like Dad. It comes with the territory."

"That's grim," I muttered.

"That's the life." He told me, and it sounded like a warning. "There are eight of us. Nine, I guess, now. Three of them live here in the shed, the others have their families or apartments or something."

"They live here?" I repeated.

He nodded, pushing open the door for me to step through. "Michael, Olivia, and Pearson. Michael and Olivia are your age, they go to the high school. Pearson's closer to my age, but he can't afford a place of his own. You don't exactly make a lot of cash by slaying zombies every night."

I wanted to ask more questions, but I was also curious for what waited inside. I stepped past him and stood just on the inside of the door, only to be awed by what waited. It was like a frat house's dream, I thought to myself. One side had gym equipment in every square foot, and a set of thick mats surrounded by padded benches separated it from a circle of couches and chairs at the other end. There was a staircase in the center of the room, and above that was a balcony-styled hallway with four doors.

It took me longer than it should have to take it all in, committing every inch to memory and scoffing at the scent of sweaty boys and thick cologne. Thomas had followed me inside, and was looking down at me from the little height he had. "Cool, huh?"

"Yeah," I said, eyes wandering over the wall of weapons that hung from nails hammered into the wood across from us. There was everything from swords to axes, and the sheer number of them amazed me. It occurred to me that they had to be as far from the city as they were because if the police, or anyone else for that matter, ever stumbled upon them accidentally, there would be no lie that could explain it. "Cool."

"I'm going to go throw my bag upstairs." He said. "Don't go wandering and get yourself hit with a knife, okay?"

Just as soon as he finished the words, he started towards the stairs. I stood in the doorway like a lost dog, looking over each and every one of the people who were standing around the room. Thomas had said there were eight of them, and all of them were standing somewhere in front of me. Two boys were running on treadmills off to my left, both shirtless with glistening skin that made my cheeks burn red. Another one was lifting weights in front of a mirror near the mats, where a girl and a boy were throwing punches at one another with no care for what marks they would leave behind. I winced as I watched her hit him square on the cheek with a force that would have sent me flying. He barely even flinched.

Trey was standing in the back corner talking to another girl. She had short hair that stuck as small curls near her scalp and bronzey skin coated in black ink. My first thought, embarrassingly enough, was that they must've been dating. Trey was 6"something of muscle and god, in an unnervingly perfect kind of way, and she looked like a punk goddess. I was in no way into girls, but if I was...

Thomas was back just as soon as he was gone, and then he began pointing at one person after another, rambling names that I did my best to associate to faces. The two boys who ran on the treadmills were Pearson and Link, both of which were recently graduated and spent their days working in the back of the same fast-food restaurant. Roger had his hair dyed a drastically bright shade of red and wore a thick silver chain around his neck. Link looked a little more like someone I might've seen walking the halls of the Academy, if he was on the football team, that is, with his blonde hair and boulder of a build. He would give a pro-wrestler a run for their money, without a doubt.

The boy who was lifting weights in the corner was Nicks, and I had to double-check with Thomas to make sure I hadn't just misheard the s.

"It's a nickname," Thomas said, shrugging. Nicks was just as frightening as Trey, I realized quickly. He wore a wifebeater that put an array of tattoos on his ribcage on display, including one of a zombie's face that I just barely caught a glimpse of as he a barbell above his head. His hair was shaved close to his head, and a single cross earing dangled from one of his ears.

The two who fought in the ring were Olivia and Michael, the last of the two that lived in the shed full-time. Thomas said they were siblings, Michael being a year older than his sister. Though both had the same shade of auburn hair, Olivia had the ends of it died violet, matching the liner that covered her eyes. Just as Thomas was moving on to the next in the group, I watched her swing towards her brother, just barely missing, and him kick at her calves to send her flying to the ground in response. Thomas and I used to fight when we were kids, always under Dad's supervision, but I couldn't imagine either one of us hitting the other that hard.

"And you know Trey," Thomas continued. "And the girl over there is Ricky."

"That's a lot of names to remember," I muttered.

Thomas grinned, "By the end of tonight, your brain is going to be absolutely fried."

"Love that for me," I said.

From the corner of the room, Trey stalked towards the couches and yelled out, "Alright, break. Meeting time."


	6. Chapter 6

"We have a new recruit," Trey said once everyone had gathered in the corner of the room.

I stood off behind the couches, just beside where Thomas had pulled a stool over to sit on. Most of the others were sitting on the couch in front of us, aside from Trey, who was perched at the edge of the coffee table facing everyone. Looking at him there, I never would have guessed he was my age. He looked older than anyone else, commanding the room with a presence that couldn't be rivaled. His entire demeanor oozed a confidence that I both admired, and was extremely jealous of.

"Riley," Trey said, motioning up to where I stood. My shoulders squared as eyes turned my way, everyone catching a glimpse of the newbie. "She's Thomas' sister."

"I got all the good genes," Thomas said, elbowing my hip lightly. I resisted the urge to hit him back.

Trey shook his head, ignoring the comment. "Since Thomas is out for the next little bit, I'll work on training her this week and we'll add her into the rotation as of this weekend. Speaking of rotation.."

He stood and walked over to the wall behind him, where the boards had been covered with black chalkboard paint. He began writing in names under days that'd already been written in, penciling people in, two names for each day. I felt my heart surge when he wrote my name on Saturday, alongside two others; his own, and Ricky. Trey stepped back and looked over us all, "Anyone have any problems with that?"

Nicks spoke up, "I got plans on Friday night."

Trey shrugged, "Then find someone to switch. Meeting's over."

Just as soon as he finished speaking, everyone began to move. They stood from the couches and moved back to the gym, going back to the places they'd been in before Trey had called them over. Thomas stood and looked down at the gauze around his shoulder, wincing at the crimson colour that had begun to poke through. "I'm going to go change this. You're good?"

I nodded, "Yeah, I'm good."

He started towards the door on our side of the staircase, pushing it open and disappearing inside. Trey came up next to me just as soon as he was gone. "Ready to start?"

"Start what?" I asked, shoulder's squared again.

He nodded towards the mats in the middle of the room, where Michael and Olivia had started circling one another again. "Training."

"Right now?"

"No time like the present," He shrugged. Before I could muster up another response he started walking, kicking the siblings off the mats and stepping over the bench that lined it. He motioned with his fingers for me to follow.

I swallowed and did, rolling my neck as though it would give me some kind of unforeseen advantage. There was no part of me that thought this was going to go well. Even with all the training and fighting Dad had made me do as a kid, Trey was a full head taller than me and had arms double the size of my own. If he was going to throw punches at me with the same force that Olivia and Michael had been, I was about to get knocked on my butt.

"Take your shoes off," Trey said, pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it on the other side of the benches.

I tugged my shoes off, blinking as I did my best not to peer over at his back while he faced the other way. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks with only a brief glimpse.

When he turned to face me again, he had his arms up next to his chest, bouncing from one foot to the other. "Hit me."

"What?" I asked, sure I'd misheard.

He cocked his head to the side, as though it was a stupid question. "Hit me."

I didn't ask him again, and I stepped forward to swing. He caught my hand before it was anywhere near him, pushing it back to me with a rough shove. I stumbled, blinking. He was fast.

Trey squinted at me, once again making me feel small. "I thought Thomas said you knew how to fight. If that's the best you've got, I'm not impressed."

I clenched my teeth, stepping forward to hit him again. I swung with the same arm, ready for him to block it, and then hit him from the other side. He bent from the blow, wincing as my fist dug into his side. I tried not to think about the rock-hard muscle I'd hit while I pulled my arm back to my side and cocked an eyebrow, "Safe to say, neither am I."

His lips twitched, almost as though he wanted to smile, but he didn't. "That was okay, nothing to get cocky about. Try again."

I did, swinging my hand out fast this time. With impossible speed, he leaned his head back and dodged it, and I careened. My left foot was the only thing keeping me from falling as Trey stood back and watched me struggle to stand up straight again. I reached for the hair tie on my wrist, putting my hair back at the nape of my neck. Trey stood back and waited until I had my hands up in front of me again.

"I'm gonna come at you now," He said. "Block it."

"Yes, sir." I said, before I could stop the words.

He said nothing, and I watched his fist swing around from his shoulders, and I put up my forearm to shove it away before it came anywhere near my head. I frowned, "And you said my punch was bad."

"If I actually tried to hit you, I would." He said, swinging again. I blocked it all the same. "And it would hurt. Go again."

For what felt like ages, Trey and I altered between him swinging and me, and only once had he actually hit me. It was just hard enough that my chin swung to the side, and i felt the throbbing ache against my cheek. Both of us knew he could have hit harder, and I said nothing. I did, however, kick my leg out and send him tumbling to the mats below. He landed on his back, out of breath and eyes shut. He didn't expect it, and I felt a smile creep over my lips as I looked down at him. Suddenly, I didn't feel so small. And he didn't look half as condescending from the ground.

"Dirty move," he grumbled, pushing himself back up to his feet.

I shrugged, "Aren't we training to fight zombies? Last I heard, they don't fight with rules."

Trey sent me to the treadmill, setting it at a fixed rate and telling me to turn it up every ten minutes, and not to get off it until he told me. By then, there were only four of us left in the gym, and Thomas had long since disappeared upstairs to lie in bed. Ricky and Nicks were throwing knives at a target made out of broken styrofoam near the door, and Trey was throwing punches at a bag that hung from a chain under the upstairs balcony. For no reason except refusal to admit defeat, I didn't move from the treadmill until he stalked over and told me to.

I was dripping in sweat, enough that it'd soaked through my teeshirt and my hair felt slick. The only upside to my appearance was that he couldn't tell I was blushing from standing less than a foot away from him while his shirt was somewhere at the other end of the room.

He nodded, "That's good for today. Come back tomorrow morning."

"I have school," I said, shaking my head.

Trey sighed, "Then... at least skip the last half of the day."

"I'll talk to my mom," I said. "It's an hour bus from the Academy, though. I won't get here until one."

He frowned, "I'll pick you up."

"Also," I continued as if he hadn't said anything at all. "Don't you have school too?"

He shrugged. "We have an agreement with the principal. I don't have to worry about that. I'll pick you up at noon."

"You don't have to do that."

"You have to train," he said. "Today was the easy stuff, tomorrow it gets harder. If you're going to do anything other than get yourself killed this weekend, we need to give me more than what I saw today."

I scoffed. "Yes, sir."

His lips twitched. "I know you're saying that to be mean, but it has a nice ring to it."

"Yeah?" I said, pushing past him. "And how about dick? Same ring?"

"Depends on the context."

I said nothing, heading to the stairs and making my way to the room Thomas had disappeared to. I knocked lightly and then went inside. He was sitting upright on a twin-sized bed, his phone in his hand and an arm propped under his head. He smiled, "What's up?"

"I'm gonna take off."

He nodded, "One of the boys can give you a ride."

I shook my head, "I'm just gonna walk. It's not that far."

"It'll get dark soon." He said.

I hadn't thought about that, but I didn't let my fear show. I frowned, "It's fine, Thomas."

He sighed, "I don't like it, Riley."

"I'll see you tomorrow?" I said, already moving back to the hall. He shook his head, breathing out through his nose.

I made my way back downstairs, heading straight for the door. Thomas hadn't been wrong, the sun had long since set behind the mountains and the sky had faded into a darker shade of blue-grey. I paused, feet planted on the dirt for just a second, and that was just long enough for Trey to pull open the door behind me and fall into place to my right.

He jingled a pair of keys in his hand, "I'll give you a lift."

"I don't need a chauffeur." I said, though relief filled my lungs.

Trey chuckled, "Good thing I'm not one. Come on."


	7. Chapter 7

Trey had dropped me off at the end of my driveway the night before, and even though there were no zombies in sight, I all but sprinted to my front door. As I waited for him to pick me up at school the next day, I was dreading the idea of sitting next to him in his SUV for the twenty-minute ride to the base. I would admit it was nice of him to offer, and to follow through, but the entirety of the ride the night before had been spent in utter silence, and the awkward tension was almost unbearable.

The parking lot was littered with people who were enjoying the first few minutes of our lunch break. Mom had already called the school to tell them I had an appointment in the afternoon and would be leaving before the second half of classes. To no surprise, when I'd told her what Trey said while we were training, she'd brought up no problems with me skipping classes. It made sense; Thomas had likely already done all this long before me.

Trey's SUV was a beacon for attention when it pulled into the lot, stopping just shy of the steps to the main entrance. With tinted windows and black paint covered in mud, it stood out horribly against the squeaky clean vehicles of the students at the Academy. With an unnecessarily high tuition cost, most of the kids I knew from class had parents with deep pockets. Deep pockets that could buy them cars I couldn't dream of owning.

Amanda was sitting next to me at the bottom of the stairs when I stood, pointing back to the car that was just a few feet away, "That's my ride."

She nodded, "Okay. I'll talk to you later?"

I smiled, "For sure."

Just as soon as the words left my lips, I heard Trey's voice behind me. He'd unrolled the passenger side window and was yelling from his seat, blue eyes watching me pointedly. "Let's go, Riley."

Amanda gaped, grabbing my arm before I had the chance to escape. She dropped her voice to whisper, "Definitely text me later. That is a boy that warrants giving your best friend _details_."

I snorted, "Bye, Amanda."

I climbed into the passenger's seat and pulled a seat belt over my chest. Trey tore out of the lot and onto the street in record time, leaving it in the dust before I'd heard the click of the seat belt popping into place. I grimaced, forcing the words through gritted teeth as I watched the speedometer climb. "Thank you. For picking me up, I mean."

"I told you, we need as much time as possible." He said simply, reaching for the radio dial and turning the volume up just a little. It was enough that I got the message. Silence it was.

I stole glances his way every time he jerked the wheel. Trey reminded me of a comic book character, in a way. I'd never really been into those, but the way his features were so defined and his hair ruffled and just a little overgrown made me think he'd be the perfect image for a book like that. Probably a villain, I decided quickly. I eyed the tattoo that was drawn onto his forearm, a snake that slithered all the way from his wrist to his elbow. As if he needed that to look more badass.

"Something interesting?" He asked, turning onto the highway. I gripped the door, body going stiff. He wasn't a bad driver, not really, but he certainly i didn't make an easy ride.

I swallowed, "I was looking at your tattoo."

He shrugged, "It's a python. My mom got me one when I was a kid."

"A tattoo?" I squeaked.

He laughed, "No, genius. A snake."

"Oh," I said, cheeks heating. It was then that I remembered what Thomas had said about Trey's family, and I wasn't sure what to say.

"Plus," he continued. "It looks pretty rad."

"Rad?" I said with a chuckle. "Who says rad."

He smiled, pushing up the hair that had fallen over his eyes. Neither of us said anything else until he pulled onto the forestry road that led to the base, the car swerving around trees and out of potholes. Trey parked just outside of the shed, and I pushed open the door. He went inside, holding the door open by the tips of his fingers for me to follow. The first floor was empty, but I could hear music playing from somewhere upstairs. I just barely recognized the song and decided it must be Thomas, still lying in bed where I'd left him the night before.

Trey pointed to the door just behind the staircase, "You can change in there, and then hit the treadmills. Same thing as yesterday, start slow and work your way up."

I nodded. I'd packed my gym clothes in my school bag before I'd left for school. Trey called out to me just before I shut the door behind me, "There are lockers in there, too. For after. You can leave your runners and whatever in there so you don't have to bring them every time."

Inside, it looked like nothing more than a basement bathroom. There was a plastic sink in the corner, surrounded by a table that'd been made into a kind of counter, covered in perfume bottles and deodorant that probably belonged to the people who lived upstairs. The locker's Trey had mentioned were stuffed in the corner next tot he door, eight little cubbies with grated doors. I changed quickly and shoved my bag into one of the empty ones, tying my hair up above my head and glancing quickly in the mirror before I stepped back out. I still had makeup on from school, foundation and mascara that was probably going to end up leaving me looking like a raccoon by the time I was done, but I left it. I didn't like the idea of washing my face over a sink that was probably used to clean off blood every second day.

Trey was back at the punching bag, chains rattling over his head every time he hit it. I put my headphones in my ears and stuffed my phone into the pocket of my shorts, climbing onto the treadmill and starting at a run. It wasn't long before I started to feel tired, breathing heavily and sweating from my hairline. Trey didn't leave me there for long, stalking over after only a half-hour and nodding towards the wall of weaponry at the other end of the room. I bit my lip to hold back a smile. I'd never used a sword or anything like that, but the idea was exciting.

So exciting that I didn't even care if Trey was going to be mean.

He pulled one of the smaller swords off of the wall, handing it to me and pointing to the wooden dummy that was only a few feet away. I frowned at it. The head looked as though it'd been sliced clean off more than a few times, nailed back into place by a bolt that ran right through the top.

"Hit it as hard as you can."

I rolled my shoulders back and lunged, arm swing out and soaring into the wooden figure's shoulder in a wide arc. Small chips of wood sparked off, flying in different directions, but the blade went no deeper than a centimeter if that. I pulled it back to my side and looked over at Trey.

He stepped up next to me, one foot in front of the other and his arm just a little behind him, "Stand like this, and don't rely so much on momentum. You have to use your strength too. Try again."

Trey moved back a few paces, just out of the danger of the sword in my hands, and I swung again. I tried to follow his instructions, my shoulder driving the blade into nearly the same spot. It didn't go any deeper than it had before, but the figure swayed, shaking as it tried to fall over but the cement that held it in place prevented it.

Trey took his lip ring between his teeth, shaking his head. "Better, but you're only going to piss a zombie off with that. You need to incapacitate them, give you an advantage. They can't feel pain, so just trying to hurt them won't do anything."

"Okay," I said, listening closely. Right then, Trey didn't seem like the bossy and uncaring leader. He was trying to help me, and even though it was only because they needed the help, it felt genuine enough that I wasn't disheartened by his corrections. "So, go for the limbs?"

"Yeah, pretty much." He said. "You won't be able to break the dummy, so don't worry about that. Just give it your all and we'll see where we're at."

He leaned back against the staircase, watching me as I adjusted my grip on the end of the sword. It felt weird to be holding a weapon like this, silver and sharp and straight out of a medieval text. It wasn't as heavy as I'd expected it to be, but it wasn't exactly light either. I rolled my neck and swung again, arcing down towards the footless legs of the figure. The end of the blade sunk where the knees would have been, just barely hitting it. If I'd been standing an inch further away, I would have missed it entirely. I scowled, frustration growing thick.

Trey stepped forward, pointing to my hand that held the weapon, "Move your hand up, right under the hilt."

I did as he said, but his frown didn't fade. Instead, he moved even closer, hesitating for just a moment before reaching out and tugging at my elbow, lifting it just a little. He pushed my shoulders back even further, and I clenched my teeth from the feeling of his fingers on the sleeve of my shirt. I was grateful that he'd chosen to leave his on today, because if he'd been standing as close as he was then without one, I would have been redder than a tomato.

"And your knees," He said, ducking down and putting his hand on the back of my calf. I kept my eyes on the target in front of me. He pushed my leg forward, forcing my knee to bend a little more. "Okay, now go."

I waited until he was standing further away before I tried again, and the blade hit harder. The sudden stop of it hitting the wood sent a vibration up to my elbows, and I looked back at him with a grin.

Trey smiled back at me, "That was good. Now do that 30 more times."

"30?" I said.

His smile turned sly. "You won't be able to lift your arms after, but it'll be worth it."

I sighed and watched him saunter over to the couches. And then I did exactly as he said, hitting the dummy over and over again until I could barely lift the blade any further than my hip bone. Until my arms felt like sludge, worse than they had on physical test days when I was forced to climb ropes and thought I would lose the use of my arms forever. I wanted to stop long before then, the vain part of me thinking I wouldn't be able to get any better at it than I already had, but I didn't. Somewhere in my mind, I knew that Trey had been right when he said it'd be worth it. And there was no part of me that wanted to go into a fight with a zombie doubting my abilities; distractions could kill. I'd seen enough movies to know that much.


End file.
